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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23774350">The Baker &amp; The Hunter</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/katnissdoesnotfollowback/pseuds/katnissdoesnotfollowback'>katnissdoesnotfollowback</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Oneshot Collection [17]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidental Voyeurism, Canon Compliant, F/M, Post-Mockingjay, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reference to Torture, Reference to character death, Sexual Content, alternating pov, it's brief and not graphic, plot point not meant to scintillate</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:00:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,661</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23774350</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/katnissdoesnotfollowback/pseuds/katnissdoesnotfollowback</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gale returns to District Twelve several years after the fall of the Capitol to discover that a lot has changed, and a lot hasn't. There's a baker...and a hunter in this story. And a toasting.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Oneshot Collection [17]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/936882</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>276</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Baker &amp; The Hunter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjohn27/gifts">stjohn27</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A birthday present written for the lovely stjohn27 to fulfill something she'd always wanted to see written. Also, toasting jokes. ;p</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>~~ Gale ~~</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How long does it take for the scars of loss to heal, I wonder as I stand next to the door and the train slows down to enter the station at District Twelve. The thing shudders to a halt and I shift my bag to hang more securely on my shoulder. The doors slide open and a warm breeze of memory hits me in the face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spring hasn’t just arrived in District 12. It’s entrenched. I stand on the platform as people move around me, going about their business. A few families work with railroad employees to unload their baggage. I recognize a few familiar faces in those returning here to resume or rebuild their lives. Other workers hurry to unload supplies. There’s an altogether relaxed air about the whole thing. There’s no stench of byproducts from the mines and no loud work whistles announcing the changing shifts. I hear laughter and catch the scents of the woods and the earth still damp after a recent rain. No haze of mining pollution in the air, the sky a brilliant blue and my surroundings mostly vibrant greens.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Twelve appears to be moving along just fine, a theory reinforced as I walk into town. Half a dozen buildings are mid-construction, but other than a few deep furrows scarred through the land that have already grown over with green, there’s no sign of the carnage wrought by the Capitol fire bombs. They’ve done a good job cleaning out the wreckage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My first stop is the hotel, a place I never had cause to set foot in when this place was the Capitol’s. Now that it’s rebuilt and belongs to Panem, its uses and guests are manifold. I check in with the desk clerk, a woman whose face is not familiar to me. She keeps looking up and down at me, as though she wants to say something and doesn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a thirst for gossip that I wish had died with the Capitol, but I need it right now and ask her a few questions. How life is in District 12 and how the rebuilding progress appears to be going to her. It’s seemingly superficial but it’s also part of my job, ensuring that each district has what it needs to remain secure. From any remaining Capitol sympathizers either without or within. Twelve is my last stop. The others had my attention long ago, but I’ve been avoiding this one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The desk clerk tells me about how much better it’s gotten. How the first few waves of refugees tried to cram into tent cities or the dozen houses in Victor’s Village, but now that they’ve had time to build, things have gotten better.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Any problems with housing government officials here on business, or celebrities?” I ask and she tilts her head, suddenly becoming closed lipped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh no. Celebrities don’t come here. We’re too far out of the way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right. Like I don’t know that Katniss still lives here in exile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Welcome to District 12, Mr. Hawthorne,” she says and hands me a key to my room. The irony of her words isn’t lost to me, the fact that she is welcoming me to the place where I grew up, as though I’ve never been here before. The irony wanes quickly, though, especially after I leave my bags in my room and wander the district to see what’s new, what’s changed, and I realize that maybe her greeting was accurate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almost everything has changed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I pass the new medicine factory. It’s already open and bustling. There’s even an expansion under construction. The edifice has a clean, almost homey look to it that the mines never could have hoped to achieve. The square looks much the same, although every building is brand new and gleams with a cleanliness that was never possible before. There’s no coal dust film covering the windows or dulling the paint on the signs. Each store has a small plot of land out front, planted with flowering bushes, a handful of saplings. Shoemaker. Tailor. Butcher. Apothecary. Bakery.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I scowl and turn towards the Seam. Or rather what was once the Seam. There’s no sign of the shacks the Capitol once called houses. The new buildings that are already finished or still in the midst of being erected look nothing like my old home. Just like the square, they’re neat and clean. Still small, but well built and maintained with brightly colored shutters and flowers planted along the sides or in window boxes. Half a dozen children race down the street, laughing and shouting to one another. Their cheeks aren’t hollow and neither are their eyes. Their clothes aren’t the riches of the Capitol or even Two or One, but they’re a far cry from the rags we had to content ourselves with just a few years ago. And all of them are wearing sturdy shoes of some kind. I knew this place in despair and starvation. They’re rebuilding it with hope and promises.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t take me long to reach the fence. The land itself is still the same size, but the population hasn’t even reached a quarter of what it once was, so there aren’t nearly as many streets and buildings for me to wind my way through to get here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’ve rebuilt the fence, although this one’s not nearly as high, and not electrified. Signs point towards gates and exits at regular intervals. Entrance to the forest is no longer forbidden. Now the fence really is designed for what the Capitol once claimed. To keep predators out. I stand at the fence, fingers looped through the wires and staring at the trees that I used to know so well. I’ve spent years learning different woods, different mountains, and now the ones of my home seem to be a stranger, no longer welcoming.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I shake off the morose thoughts and turn back towards town. I have work to do while I’m here. I don’t have time for whimsy. Maybe I’ll visit the woods tomorrow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I don’t mean to, but my feet carry me to Victor Village. I had planned on waiting, adjusting to being back here, maybe taking a trek through the woods to clear my head, before I went to see her, but as I approach, I spot someone kneeling in flower beds along the side of the house. Her dark hair in a short braid, a wide brimmed hat on her head, and her white shirt sticking to her back in patches of sweat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before I mean to, I’m standing next to her. She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, smearing dirt over her skin and for some reason, it makes me smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Catnip.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katniss turns her head to look up at me, shielding her eyes from the bright sun that shines from behind me. No smile and no scowl either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gale. I heard you were in town,” she says and then stands. She looks good. A healthy glow to her skin with no makeup or Capitol alterations, her figure filled out and robust. No longer starving. There’s a brightness, a sharpness in her eyes that I haven’t seen much of since her first games. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Word travels fast.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well there’s not many of us left,” she says and removes her gardening gloves. “And your face is all over the news most nights, so people here all know who you are.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s then, when I feel the first stirrings of hope because she’s taken note of my face and maybe followed me from a distance, that I admit it to myself. I have more than one reason for being here. Despite what I said to her the last time we spoke, I’m still holding out hope that she can forgive me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then I glance down at the bushes she was tending and hope goes up in flames. Primrose plants. Half a dozen, healthy and thriving evening primrose bushes line the side of her house.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s uh been awhile,” I say stupidly and she crosses her arms, her face still impassive. Unreadable. “I wasn’t sure—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Say what you need to, Gale. You and I have too much history to play anymore games with our words.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve missed you.” The words fly out before I can think better of them. “It’s been… different in Two. Everywhere, really.” She sighs and closes her eyes, but there’s a softness and almost a sorrow on her face when she looks at me again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve missed you too.” The words mean so much to me, I hadn’t even realized. We used to be a team, her and I. A well oiled machine that saw to the needs of our families and each other, as best we could. There have been others since her, but none of them quite fit or worked with me the way Katniss did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Could we go inside?” I ask and try for a smile. What I have to say isn’t something the entire district needs to witness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” she says and doesn’t elaborate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Katniss, I’d like to talk to you, but this isn’t maybe the place.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Neither is inside our home. So out here is where we talk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Our</span>
  </em>
  <span> home. Shit. There've been no records of a marriage. There’s still a house in Victor’s Village registered to Peeta Mellark. All reports indicated that she’s been living alone. She just admitted to missing </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. For the second time in the space of five minutes, I feel as though hope has gone up in flames.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just want to apologize for the way things turned out.” She lifts one eyebrow but her expression remains otherwise unchanged. “You’re not making this easy, Katniss.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For one second, I think I see her softening again, but then there’s a scrape of a footstep behind me, drawing her gaze over my shoulder. Her face changes and I bite back a curse as Katniss moves past me to greet someone. Peeta. He’s carrying two loaves of bread and seems to almost lean towards her before Katniss kisses his cheek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” he says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey. We have a visitor,” she tells him and then his eyes jump up and find me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gale. Good to see you again,” Peeta says, still the slick liar and diplomat. Guess he’s managed to get back a lot of whatever the Capitol tried to torture out of him, after all. I nod at him and he looks back down at Katniss for a second. Some sort of silent communication occurs that annoys me. She and I used to do that. “Would you like to come inside?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The invitation startles me, coming from him. Hadn’t Katniss just refused me? But now that Mellark is here, she mentions cold lemonade and he smiles at her, his hand resting low on her back as they lead me inside. Mellark holds the door for her and waits for me, ushering me inside with a smile that I swear is smug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Our home.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The words feel like a punch when I see a pair of muddy boots too big for her feet in the hallway, next to her old worn boots, her game bag, and her bow. Paintings that were never there before line the walls. Mellark moves around me into the kitchen and I follow in a trance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She can’t be happy here like this, I tell myself. She never wanted this kind of luxury, or the things it meant she had to do to appease the Capitol. She never wanted the constant reminders, and now she’s trapped in it again. This house...I pause in the doorway to the kitchen, glancing around at all the memories here. How can she stand it? All the reminders of the Capitol’s control of us. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And the way she refused to let me inside until he showed up and extended the invitation smacks of control. She should feel comfortable inviting an old friend into her own home unsupervised. I’m busy wondering about things that have changed around the district, the sort of top to bottom alterations I’d once thought only the wizards in the Capitol could effect, and wondering if Katniss has once again transformed into something I don’t recognize. She’s been frozen in my mind for years and now she defers to Mellark… what sort of hold does he now have over her? I wonder while I’m offered a seat at their table and a cold glass of lemonade.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” I say as Katniss sits across from me with her own glass and Peeta remains by the counter, working on what appears to be dinner prep. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I run my fingers through the cold condensation and it brings to mind another cold drink offered in contrition to someone whose mind I’d thought was gone, destroyed. But here he is calmly chopping vegetables. The words we spoke that day return to me. My doubts that all three of us would survive our mad assault on Snow’s Mansion and yet here we are. I wonder if, in removing myself from the equation, I forced her decision. If who she needs to survive became the only option available. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katniss asks after my family and I tell her how they’re all doing. Then she asks about my job, and Peeta interjects with a few questions on how the rebuilding and restructuring of Panem has gone. Implementing elections and various other things. It feels weird sitting in a kitchen going through small talk with Katniss while Mellark fixes dinner. His familiarity with her kitchen annoys me further.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, he joins us at the table, sitting in the chair next to Katniss. As soon as he sits, she reaches over and holds his hand on top of the table. His presence changes her and she levels me with a serious look.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t really come here to catch up, did you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s partly why I’m here.” She waits and I shift my feet. “Could we talk...alone?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything you have to say to me can be said in front of Peeta,” Katniss insists. “We have no secrets from each other. Which means he knows a lot more about you than you know about him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That pisses me off even more. Where’s she get off telling him all about me?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No secrets at all?” I ask pointedly. I want to ask if he knows that he almost strangled her to death in Thirteen. If he knows about us kissing in District 2.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“None,” she says firmly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So he knows about what happened in District 2? Thirteen? Eight? Here in Twelve when we shot that propo?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All of it. Including in the labs of Thirteen with Beetee,” Katniss says, her eyes flashing in anger. Mellark squeezes her hand and she takes a quick breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does he know you kissed me right here?” I ask vindictively. It’s pointless, I know, but I lash out anyways. She just tilts her head and seems to look at me with pity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He does.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mellark has been surprisingly quiet and when I chance a look over at him, he’s completely calm, eyes focused on their joined hands on the table. His thumb running over hers. Asshole. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But here I am dragging up kisses that happened over three years ago and I have no idea if or how often they’ve kissed in that time span. As much as I hated watching her kiss him on screen, seeing them together and not knowing what’s happened in the span of three years is almost worse. Are they friends? Lovers?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she shot Coin and I left for District 2, I didn’t have much hope of ever seeing her again. Then she was exiled here and I’d been sure she and Mellark would have rushed to get married at the first chance, if she’d really been in love with him. If he’d actually managed to get better from the hijacking. But then they didn’t get married, didn’t even give up his house, for years. And now I realize that’s the source of my hope and my confusion. Why I’ve been holding on to her. They’ve waited this long, there must be a reason.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Katniss, if you two need to talk alone, you should,” he says softly. She turns to look at him and once again I feel like I’m watching some kind of silent conversation. She shakes her head slightly and he reaches up to caress her face. “Maybe a walk in the woods would be good for you both.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A reasonable idea,” I say and watch his jaw tick. It’s ridiculous how good that makes me feel. Cracking his annoyingly unaffected demeanor, even that small bit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” she says firmly. She’s not budging and Peeta sighs, then he stands and kisses her temple, murmuring something about checking the stew and not eavesdropping.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stays in the room and Katniss folds her hands together, then looks at me expectantly. I’m thrown off by everything about this visit and can’t get my thoughts straight. Wonder if bringing up his attempt at murdering her would have a similar effect. I don’t do it, though. I didn’t come here to hurt Katniss, and Mellark looks like he’s back in peak physical condition. He could do serious damage if he lost it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess I just wanted to apologize for the way things turned out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You already said that. Outside.” I grab hold of my temper and glare at the wooden table top. I wonder if this is the same one where I stayed the night I was whipped. Does Mellark know she kissed me right here? He did say that was when she knew she loved me. Back then.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I meant about Prim,” I say quietly and Katniss sucks in a breath. The only sound after that is Mellark puttering around with a spoon “I knew you’d never forgive me, but...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not just about Prim,” Katniss says, although her voice wavers on her sister’s name. “Coin wanted to continue the Games. Did you know that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My head jerks up in surprise. She’s close to crying already and it guts me. “No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“With Capitol children,” Katniss continues. “Where would it end if she’d made that happen? How many more innocent children would have to die?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They weren’t that innocent--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They were. Just because they knew nothing other than a life of full bellies and luxury in the Capitol and what their parents told them, that doesn’t make them any less innocent. They didn’t choose where they were born, just like we didn’t. And they burned right alongside Prim.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A heavy silence falls and Mellark moves once more to the table and places his hands on her shoulders. I watch him squeeze and massage, her hand resting lightly on top of his as she closes her eyes and shakes her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I want to remind her that I have no way of knowing if the bombs dropped that day were the ones I designed or if they were created in the Capitol. I have my suspicions, but telling her that will do no good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re right,” I say and slowly stand, because I think I’ve worn out my welcome, if I ever was welcome here. “I should get back. I have work tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katniss just nods and with a final squeeze of her shoulders, Mellark shows me to the door. I wish he looked smug or like he’s gloating so I could think he was a dick and undeserving of her, but just like during the lead up to the Quell, he’s nothing but polite and </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Asshole.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>~~ Peeta ~~</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think I was too harsh,” Katniss says and I shake my head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You held back an awful lot.” She sighs and sits on the edge of our bed, braiding her hair for sleep. It’s still damp from our shower and I fluff the pillows to keep my hands busy. “But so did he. Because I was there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stops and scowls up at me. “No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not going into the woods to talk with him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hear me out--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not doing that, Peeta,” she insists and finishes her braid, slipping her feet beneath the covers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I just ask why you’re so against it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you so for it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because I think it’ll be good for you both. Very cleansing. Maybe it’s what Gale needs to heal and move on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well I don’t much care what he needs to heal and move on,” she says almost meanly. Then she groans and covers her face with her hands. “He’s getting to me. I don’t want all this anger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” I say softly and sit next to her. “Maybe that’s why he needs to talk to you. So he can see what happened through your eyes for once and understand, maybe let go of some of his own anger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about you?” she says and drops her hands to take mine in hers. “I don’t want to do anything that might jeopardize you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine,” I assure her. “I really don’t mind you talking to him. Besides, you made it pretty clear with the whole ‘we have no secrets...</span>
  <em>
    <span>none.’</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She giggles at my overly dramatic assertion and I smile. “Now he knows anything he says or does, you’ll tell me. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> already knew that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t think he’d try to...?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t blame the guy for wanting to steal a kiss,” I say with a shrug. “You’re irresistible with that scowl. It’s positively swoon-worthy. ”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughs again and tugs on my shirt so that I lay down with her. I wrap her in my arms and we stay there for a moment. Her fingers running through my hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ve been doing so well,” she whispers. “It’s been weeks since either of us had a truly bad day, and I don’t want to trigger one for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll manage.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know but...going into the woods alone with Gale. Peeta, it’s just too much like…” like some of the images Snow used to hijack me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s your choice, Katniss. I just want you to know that I shouldn’t be a factor in your choice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you are.” I open my mouth to argue, but she cuts me off. “Even if I agreed to it, it can’t be tomorrow. You and I have plans. We’re not cancelling them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Our plans could easily be adjusted, but the fact that she doesn’t want to soothes any fears I might have left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, just think about it, okay?” She agrees to consider it at least. I rise from bed to finish getting ready for sleep. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>~~ Gale ~~</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m tied up with work and for the first time in awhile, it annoys me. I want to get out. I can see the trees through the windows and I long for some fresh air. Some time in the woods. The fact that I spot Katniss headed through town towards the fence has nothing to do with it. The fact that she’s alone, her game bag over her shoulder and her bow in her hand, definitely has nothing to do with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her words have been rolling around in my head since yesterday and I just want five minutes with her to try to explain that I did what needed to be done to help us win that war. To get rid of Snow and end the Games, the oppression, the starvation. I thought she understood that, but her judgment wasn’t always clear when Primrose was involved. Everyone lost someone in the war, and while I know that doesn’t make her pain any less, I’d thought it’d help her look past what I did, eventually.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time I untangle myself from my job and change into something more suitable for the woods, Katniss has at least an hour head start on me. I’m rusty and worried that I won’t be able to track her easily, but I needn’t have. She’s left a clear path. I guess I’m not the only one out of practice. More evidence that she can’t be happy here living with Mellark. If she’s not getting much time in the woods, he’s suffocating her. Maybe he doesn’t understand her need to be out here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unlike the district, the woods haven’t changed. Our entire world was flipped upside down, everything torn down to make room for the new. It’s been years of adjusting and attempting to heal from decades of oppression. But the woods continue on, untouched by the war. That constancy makes me quicken my steps until the sound of them startles me. I’m still hoping that the woods aren’t the only thing that have survived and healed. As I follow her path, it becomes clear where she went. The lake where she once asked me to run away with her. Perfect.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I knew she couldn’t be satisfied with her choice. It wasn’t even a choice really. Circumstances forced her into it, I rationalize. Perhaps if she can find it in her heart to forgive me what happened, we can actually have a real chance. I haven’t worked out a chance at what just yet. At least friends.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m almost there. I can see the hut where I first told her that I love her through the trees. I wonder if she’s fishing or hunting nearby, but then I hear a sound that makes me stop cold. Laughter. Slowly, I creep through the brush and stop just inside the trees before they break open along the shores. I’m not sure how, since she was alone when I saw her this morning, but she’s not anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There, in the middle of the lake, two heads bob above the water. One blonde, one dark. He must have joined her somehow, but that makes little sense. Merchants never braved the woods alone before. I can still hear him talk about the field in the arena with ignorance and fear, the way so many saw the woods years ago. I watch as Katniss combs her fingers through his hair and then, she kisses him on the mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I squat in the shadows and stare at the earth, instead of at them, one of my questions at least answered. There’s no more laughter. I’m a little aggravated that I keep having to watch them kiss, and that he got there first again. Asshole. Of course, I’d known this was a possibility, but the facts just didn’t line up. Didn’t point towards this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I get lost in thought, mulling over the dirt beneath my feet. Still the same dirt and yet somehow everything is different. I’m only pulled from my musings when I hear a surge of water and splashing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking up, I immediately regret sticking around, as Mellark carries Katniss out of the water. She’s clinging to him like she’s a piece of wet laundry, their mouths basically glued together, and I’m momentarily thankful that Mellark is still at least in his shorts because I’d rather not get an eyeful of his bare ass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What I do get an eyeful of is pink skin. Puckered and ridged on the edges, smooth and almost shiny through the centers. Scar tissue. From burns. The evidence of skin grafts over his body. Starting somewhere around his knees and working up to beneath his hairline. Concentrated on the left side. I’d forgotten he was in that fire, too. I get an eyeful of a metal and plastic leg that I knew he had, but the only time I’ve seen it before is when they were forced to strip to their underwear during the Quell. I try not to think about that too much. The sight of it again in conjunction with passionate kissing makes me nauseous, as it did then.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He loses his footing and they fall to the ground. I can’t see much through all the reeds and plants growing around the lake and honestly, I’m grateful for that. Especially when a wet piece of clothing gets tossed and Katniss giggles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I should go. My pride doesn’t need more evidence that I’ve lost her for good. I’ve foolishly allowed myself to get my hopes up again and again. Now is not the time to interrupt with reminders of her dead sister. I’ve made up my mind to leave when the sounds coming from across the lake change. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s hurting her, I’m sure of it. Katniss is always quiet in the woods. She doesn’t make noises like that. I take two steps and skid to a halt. All I can see is the back of his head, between her spread legs, her hands gripping his hair. Her toes curling into the wet muck at the edge of the lake. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alright, maybe he’s not hurting her, but the uninhibited sounds she’s making contradict everything I know about her quiet, emotionally controlled personality. Laughter wasn’t a normal expression on her, neither was smiling. Katniss, as I knew her, was always stoic and reserved. Strong. That has to be fake. She has to be exaggerating. I feel like a pervert and yet can’t seem to move. Something in the way her voice seems to almost desperately sing and echo across the water has me rooted in place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh! Oh! Now, Peeta! I need you now!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I stand in the shadows, glaring at the soil beneath my feet, unable to leave and feeling dirty for staying. Betrayed in a way. The woods were ours. Mine and Katniss’. Mellark never would have braved them before the Games and now it’s like he’s tainted something that belonged just to us. Even if she’s really chosen him, the woods should have still been ours, I’d thought. Their moans and her encouragement of him echo across the water, mocking me. Shoving me out of this last place on earth where I thought part of me belonged. Where part of me would always have her heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Katniss</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words ring out, freezing me in place. Making my blood run cold. I must hate myself because I can’t help but look again, curious to see how Katniss will respond to such a blatant show of affection and devotion from him. I almost smirk in anticipation of the answer she once gave me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I regret that immediately as well. She’s on top of him now, in control, her body moving in a fluid dance, her wet braid straight down her back, trickling drops that shimmer in the sunlight. His hands roaming and caressing. All of it too smooth to be unfamiliar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But her back...it’s a patchwork of burn scars and skin grafts just like his. I hadn’t realized how extensive her injuries were. I never went to visit her in the hospital, too consumed with guilt and burying myself under a mountain of work as a soldier of New Panem. I close my eyes and see the footage again. The flashes of fire consuming children, flying over the barricades. Scorching anyone nearby.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Opening my eyes again, I force myself to look at her arched body and the damage done to her by a weapon of my design. Perhaps she wasn’t an innocent in the City Circle that day, but she was before the Games. Before the arena. I sink to the ground as her moans grow louder and more frantic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you! Real! Real! Oh!” She squeals out his name then, the sound woven together with his wordless shout, and I’m not sure if I’ve just heard Katniss fake an orgasm or actually have one with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the way she shouted the word “real” triggers a memory of campfires and tents. Sweaty tired feet in boots and the cold metal of a crossbow beneath my fingers. The stench of sewers and mutts. A thick tar wave. I start shaking and sweating profusely as the memories take over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Real or not real. I am a fucking mess.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>~~ Peeta ~~ </em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katniss collapses onto my chest and I wrap my arms around her as she pants hot air against my neck and her walls flutter flutter on my cock in the last waves of her release, like the tickling of wings. Eventually it stops and I sigh happily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She presses soft kisses to my skin and I caress over hers. The sun and our touches keep us warm as the rest of the lake water dries from our bodies, drop by small drop. With a deep breath, she rises up, propping herself up with an elbow on my chest. She smiles down at me, her expression sly and satisfied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We should probably get dressed before we get sunburned,” I say, but she doesn’t move. Her only response is to take one fingernail and trail it around my nipple. Round and round and then down to my side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was thinking... we should have our toasting. Maybe tomorrow,” she whispers. I blink up at her, speechless. “Or not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I want to,” I rush to reassure her. But doubt and suspicion barge into my head before I can stop them. “It’s just...why now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not Gale,” she says and I can’t help but frown.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sort of feels like it is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ve been talking about it for months and it’s spring now and I guess I just...want to make it official. Leave no room for doubts ever again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” I say hesitantly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe it is because of him a little. But I think if it is, it’s because seeing him again just reinforces what I already know.” She glances up at me, her gray eyes scared and hesitant but then she shakes her head and I see determination in her eyes as she keeps explaining. “It’s got more to do with what you said last time we talked about toasting. About me needing to leave the district and meet other people before I decide to settle down with someone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not making the connection here. You still haven’t gone anywhere. They’re talking about lifting the exile, Katniss. I can wait a few more years to give you the chance to be sure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know but…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don't want you to feel like you settled for me. Or like you chose me by default.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>settling. I don’t want anyone but you,” she vows and my heart stutters for a second then begins to thunder. “I don’t need to leave here to know that. Really if you think about it, this is just a formality.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you figure?” I ask, unable to stop the smile twitching at my lips at her conviction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because we’re already more married than any piece of paper could make us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You did not just--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did,” she says triumphantly and I groan. She’s a little too good at using my own words against me. “Besides, we’ve already had a toasting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I’d remember that,” I say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You do remember it. We didn’t even have to fix that memory. We were eleven. I was soaking wet, freezing and starving, digging through garbage--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That wasn’t a toasting,” I argue and she flattens her palm on my chest, her lashes lowering.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe not technically. But you made bread, put it in the fire--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Burned it in the fire.” She ignores me and keeps going.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then you gave it to me and I shared it with my family.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well by that logic... I gave the first bite to the pig, and I didn’t eat any so...Katniss Everdeen, you’re married to a pig.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? No!” She shouts in protest, but she’s laughing. I tease her and tickle her, rolling her over so that I’m hovering over her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lucky for me, that pig is dead. So really you’re a widow. Do you think an appropriate mourning time has passed for you to remarry or am I just your crazy grief driven affair?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop it!” she laughs as I nuzzle her neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean that pig was quite the fella, if you know what I mean. Lots of meat on his bones.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head but she’s still laughing as she pulls me down for a kiss. We sober quickly and when I lift my head, I see exactly what I need in her expression.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” I whisper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay?” Her eyes shine with the word and I rest my forehead on hers to breathe her in for just a moment before I ask.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will you toast with me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” she rushes the word out and brings my lips down to hers for another kiss.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>~~ Gale ~~</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I run into her by accident. I’m still struggling through what I saw yesterday, what she said the day before that. I forced myself to do something last night and I’ve added it to my list of regrets from this trip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I looked up the names and ages of those lost in the city circle on the last day of the war. The records are unreliable at best, but that doesn’t change the average age of the victims listed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ten.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Younger than Rory and Vick. Barely older than Posy. Not even of Reaping age. And for the first time, I imagined what it would have done to me if Posy had been there that day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m not quite ready to face that, nor am I ready to face her. Which is why I blurt out the worst thing possible when I see Katniss in the greengrocers, her basket filled with oranges and fresh rosemary.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did what I had to. What was necessary.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stares at me across the display of potatoes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know that’s what you believe,” she says simply and her superiority is infuriating.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You did the same in the arenas.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I will have to find a way to live with that my entire life. I will never stop asking if I could have done something different. If it would have changed anything. It’s like Peeta said...the cost is everything you are. But I can’t change what I did. All I can do now is live my life as best I can so that it means something. For Prim. Finnick. Rue. Boggs. Madge. All of them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It feels like there’s a widening chasm between us with each name she utters. Their faces plain as day in front of me for a brief flash and then they’re gone. There are so many more she doesn’t name. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But playing by their rules, by Snow's rules...no one can win that game,” she says softly. There’s surprisingly no accusation in it, though. No anger or bitterness. Only acceptance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No one can win that game.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I force myself to loosen my fists at my side and ask her the last thing I need to know.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You said that you miss me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I miss my friend and my hunting partner. But we were just another casualty of the war, Gale.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s then that I accept what I already knew, as much as I’ve been denying it to myself. She’s let me go. Maybe a long time ago, and any foolish hope I had for reconciliation was just that...foolish.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve had a lot of time to think about this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“More than you’ll know.” But that doesn’t answer the things about them that still don’t line up in my head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well it’s like you said. I picked who I couldn’t survive without. I’m married to him, Gale.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Married? There’s no record of that!” She starts to scowl and I realize I’ve crossed the line. Violated her need for privacy. To not have prying eyes in her life. In my need to know if there was even a sliver of hope left for us, I have destroyed it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not a marriage that needs a piece of paper from a government to make it real.” Real. There’s that damn word again. “When we’re ready for the rest of the world to know, there will be a piece of paper. Until then, it’s just for us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s what you want?” I can’t help thinking of the day she was reaped. How we talked about marriage and children and how it was something she never wanted because of where we lived and what our world asked of its children and parents.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s what I want. It’s what we want. Together.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>~~ Peeta ~~</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The kitchen is a bit of a mess when Katniss gets home from town. I’ve been working on too many things at once. Dinner for us, a cake for the bakery that I need to get done, and our toasting bread. I could have done that at the bakery, along with the cake, but I wanted to make it here in our home. That was important to me, although it’s caused some trouble. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The table is still a mess of flour since I had to use it to knead the dough. All the rest of the available counter space was occupied. The cake is almost completely frosted, the bread for our toasting is baking, dinner is simmering, and I’m feeling pretty good about my ability to get it all done in time when Katniss comes home early.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey! You’re early!” I shout and scurry to get some of the mess cleaned up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Decided everything else on my list could wait until…” she enters the kitchen and takes in the mess. “ ...tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know it looks bad, but Leevy will be here any minute to pick up the cake and then I’ll clean up the mess and—“ She stops my words with a kiss. A deep, impassioned kiss, and the frantic turning of my brain ceases while our lips are joined. “What was that for?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I shake my head, confused, but she drops off the oranges and rosemary she needed to pick up today then tells me she’s just gonna go upstairs and freshen up for dinner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I finish the cake, and Katniss is still upstairs when Leevy stops by with Thom to pick it up. I wave at them from the porch as they leave and head back to the kitchen to start cleaning up my mess.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My feet scrape on the floor and my brain screeches to a halt again. Katniss smiles at me from her perch on the table. I didn’t even see her come back downstairs. She’s naked and sitting with legs crossed on the table, in the midst of the flour mess from making our toasting bread. She swings a pair of panties on her fingers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Last chance to have wild, out of wedlock sex, Peeta,” she coos and drops her panties on the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My feet pound as fast as my heart as I move towards her. She spreads her knees and I step between, grasping her hips as our lips meet. Her legs twine around me, pulling me tight against her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I can’t decide where I want to touch her. My fingers skim over her hips, up her ribs then around to her back. She shivers and winds her fingers through my hair, twining them together at the back of my head, as tight as one of her braids. I’m already dizzy with need and let one hand wander down between us to see how ready she is. Her head tips back as I part her slick folds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So ready for you, Peeta,” Katniss purrs and my cock throbs with the need to plunge into her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Our hands keep colliding as we rush to strip off my clothes. My ear gets caught on my shirt and I nearly lose my balance when I try to step out of my pants. Somehow she keeps me from taking us both down. I grab her ass and pull her to the edge of the table. Her hands hit the surface behind her, bracing herself as I tease her entrance with my cock and she bites her lip, swivels her hips to help me coat myself with her arousal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes a few small adjustments but then we’re joined together and I can’t stop staring. We’ve done this a hundred times by now, but for some reason, this time carries such weight to it. I can’t seem to make myself move.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Peeta,” she whispers and brings one hand up to cup my cheek. Her skin is coated with flour and I know there will be some on mine later, in the shape of her hand. But that’s trivial to the gentle way she lifts my chin to look her in the eye. The brush of her thumb over my cheek. “You give me hope, Peeta. Something I can’t give myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lifts her hips and her lashes flutter, a soft sigh escapes her lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only you can give me that. And this...this is real.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I think I say her name, but whatever I say makes her smile as I start to move with her. It feels too good, or maybe it’s just the idea of it. That I’m making love to her in our kitchen with the remains of making toasting bread for us smeared across both of our skin. Sharing frantic kisses and still hungry for more. But whatever it is, I know that I’m not going to last. I press my thumb to her clit and draw tight circles on her, dipping down to gather some of her wetness to make the touches better. While Katniss arches and moans encouragement, it’s not enough. I pull out of her and she protests.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hooking my foot on the leg of the nearest chair, I drag it to me and sit between her legs, draping them over my shoulders. Then I feast. I bury my face in her and do all the things I know will make her come with my name a scream of ecstasy on her lips. Long slow licks followed by soft circles on her clit. Gentle sucks building up until her hips rise off the table in desperation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop, please!” she says and the words confuse me. I lift my head and she grasps at my shoulders, shaking her head. She’s flushed and gorgeous, her eyes hazy with need. “I want you inside me when I come.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I stand and she kicks the chair away from us, grabs hold of me and I suck air through my teeth as she guides me back to her and places her heels on my ass. Uses that to leverage herself up until we’re flush together. My hands slide through flour as we move, hips smacking together, her nails scoring into my shoulder. Our lips slide over skin, wet and uncontrollable. I find her clit again and swipe over it with my thumb as she moans and pleads into my ear. I’m unable to hold back my own sounds and they twine together in the air around us, our own form of wedding melody.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gonna come, Peeta,” she gasps and my hips move faster as she grips my hair and leans back to look in my eyes. “Come with me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I nod, unable to speak, and she closes her eyes for just a second as her mouth gapes wide and she sucks in air. Then they fly open with a smoky flash and her walls clench on me in time with the stuttering cry she releases and all of it takes me with her. A sizzle of current that burns for just a second and then leaves me warm and weak in the knees, struggling to stand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I gather her in my arms and we fall onto the table in an awkward bumbling motion that has her laughing and me moaning as I kiss her neck and her ears. Murmur to her how good I feel when we’re together. My leg aches a little and the flour mixed with sweat and arousal and cum is starting to congeal into a mess on our skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re going to need a shower,” she says and I laugh, lift my head to kiss her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Later. I’m not done with you yet,” I whisper to her lips. I’m just getting into it and thinking about retrieving that chair so I can make her come with my mouth when the acrid smell of something just beginning to burn hits my nostrils.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck! The bread!” I shout and disentangle myself from her grasp. She squeaks and barely keeps her balance. I tear open the oven door and grab a mitt, yank the tray out with a groan. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then I dump the bread on the table and she laughs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not funny. This has to be a bad omen,” I say and gesture towards the slightly singed loaf. It’s not blackened yet, but it’s damn near close to it. What kind of moron baker burns his own toasting bread? Granted I’ve been a little distracted the last half hour or so. But still. “I can make another, but it’ll be really late before it’s--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Peeta, it’s perfect,” Katniss says and I look up at her, naked and flushed, her cheeks and eyes glowing with happiness. Lips swollen from our kisses. Flour handprints and streaks covering her body. “Don’t you see?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her fingers run over the burned sections. Delicate, almost sensual.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just like that day in the rain.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>~~ Gale ~~</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I wander aimlessly well after dark, mind churning over the things Katniss told me. About her, about them, about the war and how they’ve healed and worked through so many things. I thought that I’d made peace with the choices I made, the things I did in the war. They were necessary. Everything I did, everything I’ve done since then was designed to tear down the means of starvation and oppression and death that made our world tick. So we could build a better future. We have that now. There are no Games, the children of Twelve are flourishing, as they are in the other districts. Every time I saw progress rising up out of the ashes in a district, I convinced myself that the results made it all worth it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But now I’m not so sure. Is anything necessary if it results in dozens of dead children? The Games were never necessary, or at least they shouldn’t have been. There had to be another way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And if there was another way for our ancestors, maybe there was one for me too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m still sorting it all out and not sure where to turn, but as I move through the place I once called home, I know. There’s nothing here for me anymore. No answers and no real future. Twelve has moved on without me. They don’t need me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My feet carry me to Victor’s Village, uncertain of what I’ll say to her. Thank her for upending my carefully won peace with myself? For making me begin to question and doubt every choice I’ve made and the cost of it? Congratulate her on her wedding, maybe. I don’t know, but then I find my answer. It’s already dark, so they won’t be able to see me, but I can see them. They’ve left the curtains open and I stand in the shadows, peering in at the warm light of a fire, both of them bathed in the glow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katniss sits wrapped in a blanket, leaning up against Peeta. They look relaxed and comfortable. Easy and at ease. There’s a plate of sliced apples and goat cheese nearby, another with a partially sliced up loaf of bread and a knife. She tears a slice of bread apart and feeds it to him with a kiss. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I look around the room and spot a pair of books open on a table, half-finished drawings scattered about. The books she told me about. Where they’ve committed to memory the people they lost. My head drops and I stare at the planks of their porch as the faint sound of their laughter reaches my ears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then I turn and leave, without disturbing them. They’ve found their peace, as best they can. Now I guess it’s up to me to go and find mine, too. </span>
</p>
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